timey_wimey | [RL con el Master - Time Vortex poisoning! :(]

The Doctor didn't stand at first, looking up at the Master almost sadly. The truth was, for once in his life he actually had no idea what to say. Which was more than a little unsettling.

"Yeah. I could say something," he admitted. "Just a matter of saying the right something. Or not, as the case may be."

"Neither of us can stand the quiet, can we," The Master uttered cryptically.

He felt as if he could drop right there - if he were alone, he might have. Instead he found a perfectly adequate support in The Doctor's mind. He reached out to it, grazing his thoughts, feeling for his body's reassuring calm. The other Time Lord's mind was so serene compared to his... he almost envied it. Immediately he settled down, hearts returning to their steady beats.

He stared blankly into space for a moment, lost in the sensation. He sniffed and shook his head.

"I'm famished," he said in a surprisingly soft voice. "Got anything to eat?"

The Doctor wasn't really expecting the brush on his mind when it came, but he let down his defenses when he felt the Master's mind touched his, letting him take what he needed. And well... if he was honest, it had been so long since anyone, let alone another member of his race, had initialised mental contact. He had missed it. Well, there was a revelation.

He blinked at the Master's question. "Errm. Well, yes. Somewhere. Actually... hang on a second," he said, springing to his feet and heading towards the door off the control room. "Erm, this way. Eventually," he muttered, hoping that the kitchen was where he had left it. And thinking that he should have put it somewhere a little more accessible.

The Master followed him through, letting his eyes wander over the TARDIS interior, trailing his fingers across its walls absently.

"What did you do after I died?" he asked rather nonchalantly. Truth be told the question had been gnawing at him for months, but he had regained enough composure to not sound desperate.

The Doctor froze for the smallest fraction of a second, but only a fraction, before carrying on down the corridor almost automatically.

"Um... more traveling, mostly. Always on the move," he said casually, turning a corner as he did so.

"I burnt it, you know,” he said abruptly. “Your body. I honestly thought… that you weren’t coming back.”

He sucked in a breath. “Anyway. Kitchen’s through here,” he said cheerfully. Ok, so it was a bit of a mess because really, who could be bothered to clean up, but it was serviceable and, more importantly, had food.

It was The Master's turn to freeze when he heard The Doctor's comment. He built a funeral pyre for him, as was proper for their people. No degrading burial like a human - he didn't defile his corpse, at least. But he wasn't sure what unnerved him more; that his body had been incinerated, or that The Doctor had gone through the trouble to perform a funeral rite.

He stopped and stood awkwardly in the threshold. He turned to the other man and gave a crooked half-smile.

"I'm your guest. Place looks a bit different from the last time I've been inside it, so."

The Doctor scratched the back of his head habitually, a little embarrassed. "Er, yeah. Don't seem to care for cleaning much, this time round," he said apologetically. "Right then."

He turned to one of the myriad cupboards in the place and opened it, peering inside. "Hope you don't mind something simple. Burn toast, me. Well, most of the time. If I'm unlucky." He cleared a spot for the stuff from the cupboard. Sandwiches. He could do sandwiches easy. At least, he hoped so.

((OOC: lame tag is laaaame. AND MAKING TEN DO DOMESTIC MAKES ME SPEND OVER 3 HOURS WRITING A TAG. >:[ I HOPE THAT THE MASTER IS HAPPY.))

The Master watched him rummage through the cupboards with growing impatience.

"Oh, give over," he grumbled. He nudged The Doctor out of the way and grabbed the various ingredients he had gathered.

"Brew something," he said patronizingly, while hastily slapping together a sandwich. "You can do that, can't you?"

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "Well I'd be in a spot of bother if I didn't know how to make tea," he muttered to himself, filling the battered kettle with water and prodding it a little with the sonic screwdriver - so much easier than just waiting for the thing to boil anyway. Don't provoke the savage beast and all that.

He checked a battered tin for teabags. Oh look, jelly babies, though really he had no idea how they'd got in there. Well, waste not, want not...

"Catch," he said, throwing the bag in the Master's general direction.

((LOL I HAD TO.))

The Master caught the package with both hands... and shot The Doctor a look that could've set a lesser being alight. (Smart thinking, not turning the hob on.)

"...No thank you."

He gingerly set it aside as if it were something poisonous and picked up a sandwich instead. He tore at it ravenously, barely taking the time to chew.

"This hunger," he said between bites. "It's seized me, ever since I came back. Anything I can get my hands on."

He had hardly finished the first one before he started making another. He certainly didn't look like he had put on any weight.

The Doctor shrugged, completely unperturbed by the glare. "Suit yourself. All the more for me then."

He cupped a mug of tea in both hands and leaned against the counter, a small line between his eyebrows as he watched the Master devour his sandwich.

"Strange..." he mused. "Very strange, in fact. Though I guess that we really don't know what to expect, what with -" He cut himself off and changed the subject. "Anyway," he said with a heavy sigh, "M'not surprised you're hungry now. Seems to me you haven't really given much thought to eating, erm... recently."

The Master glanced up at him coldly but said nothing. He stared at The Doctor for a long time, expressionless, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest as he ate.

"...Make me a cup of tea, would you."

The Doctor started out of his reverie. "Sorry, what? Oh, yes! Tea." He absent-mindedly poured a cup and stirred it before sliding it across the bench towards the Master.

"Hope you don't like it with sugar, I seem to have run low on that."

"I do, actually." A faint smirk played on his lips. "But I suppose I'll settle this once."

He sipped at it quietly, letting it linger near his mouth, taking in the warmth.

"You were distracted. Letting down your guard?"

The Doctor took a sip of his own tea. "Mmmm, a little bit. Have to watch that," he said with a weak smile.

What distracted you, Doctor. What thought were you lost in. Show it to me.

The intrusion came suddenly this time, The Master's thoughts loud and extant, as if he were speaking in his ear.

He stood very still, eyes shut and head cocked slightly to one side, listening. It had been so long. He listened to the other Time Lord's thoughts on occasion when he was his pet, yes, but that was different. The feelings were all muddled, sputtering fragments of words half-forgotten, soaked with pain. These were fresh and vibrant, the Doctor he remembered. It was good.

The Doctor started at that sudden intrusion, eyes wide open in shock. His first instinct was to get him out, get him away, but he forced himself to stop and wait, to stop instinctively closing his mind off. Other thoughts demanding, wanting, pulsing away underneath his. It was a bit of a shock after growing so used to the quiet, almost the silence, of being alone.

Show it to me.

He glanced at the other Time Lord. Why are you so interested all of a sudden?

He could feel The Doctor's glance on his skin. He turned his head blindly.

You were thinking of me. Thinking of ways to trap me? Musing over my show of weakness? It gnaws at me. So much easier this way. No stumbling over the words left unspoken, just purity.

But the bond worked both ways. Though his emotions were buried under layers of denial it still bled through... he was nervous. The uncertainty gnawed at him, and his greedy mind wanted it gone.

Trap you? Well that's rich. You're the one who came to me and not the other way round.

He took a while to gather himself, now that the sensation of contact with another mind wasn't feeling so intrusive.

Alright, fine, so what if I was thinking of you? The thought was almost quiet, subdued. This is more than a little strange for me as well, you know.

That thought was loaded with so much behind it - understanding, regret, relief, confusion swirling around it in equal measures like a crazy rainbow.

The Master began to sift through The Doctor's surface thoughts, feeling for the one he wanted, little tendrils, whiskers grazing in the dark. He set his tea on the counter and edged closer, furrowing his brow in concentration.

Yes. I know. But didn't you want to keep me?

The memory of The Doctor's own voice played back to him. "Mm. If that's what I have to do."

Keep me. Like a pet. Well I'm here, aren't I? I'm right where you wanted me! If I were you I'd take this opportunity... or is it compassion that drives you to distraction? Tell me, tell me, tell me.

The thought sounded aggressive, urgent, but he was scared and there was little hiding it. Frantic scratching, trying so hard to stay in control, throbbing drumbeats urging him on.

The hands clapsed round the Doctor's own teacup tightened until the knuckles turned white, a ragged breath escaped him and his eyes shut in concentration, almost discomfort, as the Master delved through his thoughts.

If that's not what you wanted then why come here in the first place? Seems pretty stupid to me if that's what you're expecting me to do. Not exactly the best end to your elaborate scheme. I mean, do you want me to 'keep you'? Does everything here have to have some sort of motive behind it, or...

He sighed and his next thought was almost gentle, a counterpoint to the restess drums. Why don't you just tell me what you want for once?

The Master felt this discomfort. It urged him on, deeper and deeper. The Doctor's projected thoughts almost faded away as he watched every memory that floated to the surface. They disgusted him.

Why don't you just tell me what you want for once?

This sliced through his hunter mind and stopped him cold. His eyes flew open as the question seeped through.

What I want. What I want, what I want...

"...What I want?"

He looked up at The Doctor as if he had never considered the question before. The drums drove him inexorably forward, driving him to do what he was born to do. That was what he wanted, wasn't it?

"...I want you to play our game again," he said softly, almost pleadingly. "You didn't play fair the last time. I-" he laughed to himself quietly, somewhat embarrassed to admit, "I don't know what to do with myself when we aren't playing it."

A flash of memory arced across his mind, only for a moment, but enough to be seen - a young boy, himself, frightened and alone in the dark.

The Doctor's mouth was open in a small "o" shape, opening his eyes to look at the Master with compassion, almost empathy. He set his teacup on the bench beside him.

Not alone, not anymore. Not if you don't want to be.

"Is that really what you want?" he said quietly. "Or is it just that you can't remember anything else anymore?"

The Master's eyes grew wide, the utter desolation - the fear - of his heart welling up behind them for the first time in what must've been decades. He drew back shakily, clutching the counter so tightly it seemed all his weight was put upon it. He bristled; the emotion could be seen rippling across his form, fear into anger, anger at himself for being so weak, anger at The Doctor for taking advantage of it... anger at everything. He snarled and his teeth were chattering. Even his mind seemed to shake. He flew through his own memories, searching desperately to prove him wrong.

But there was nothing, nothing but the endless drumming of deep time. The Master and The Doctor in an eternal spiral, two primordial gods locked in combat for all time.

He grimaced and opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't come, turned to sand in his throat. They screamed through his mind.

The game is all I have. And I hate you, because you never had to play.

The raw thought, the emotion, created resounding echoes in the Doctor's mind that almost left him reeling from the force behind it, even as his eyes watched the Master unfathomably. Watching as the truth hit home, hard.

I know.

He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair in a hopeless, almost lost gesture, his own voice playing back to him.

"Don't you see, all we've got is each other." And the game, always the game. Stay one step ahead, stay alive, keep raising the stakes, higher and higher. It's enough to command anyone's attention.

I know, he repeated, almost like an actor who'd forgotten his next lines. And believe me, I don't blame you for it.

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